


Agape & Eros

by Gyptian



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crew as Family, F/M, First Time, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Nature of Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyptian/pseuds/Gyptian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk overhears Starfleet Internal Affairs discussing his crew at a Starfleet's Halloween Ball. He and his crew decide to fight back, except they do it by way of love, not war. </p><p>This fic is set before the last scene of Star Fleet XII (Between Kirk's revival and Kirk's speech), and during the Five Year Mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agape & Eros

“...unable to determine the personal relationships among the _Enterprise_ delegation,” whined a woman out of sight. 

 

Captain Kirk, passing by, paused at the mention of his ship. 

 

“Usually, distance kept and touches exchanged make the presence of affection eminently clear, but the woman touches the Doctor and the Vulcan equally, the Doctor touches the other humans, the Vulcan touches no one and the playboy touches _all of them_ , and some strangers besides.” She made an irritated noise. “How am I to make a report to Starfleet Internal Affairs about whether the fraternisation charges merit a proper investigation when I can't even get the basic facts straight?” 

 

Suddenly-weak knees made Kirk catch at the wall and lean closer to hear, pretending he was picking at his elaborately painted nails. Long live Starfleet's Halloween party and cross-dressing. It'd made evading the press ridiculously easy, coming in. Now though, irritation at the press was surpassed by anxiety over this new threat. 

 

The last hint of fraternisation had been cause for Admiral Komack, self-absorbed bastard that he was, to stick his interfering, micromanaging hook nose into every department on Kirk's ship when they were still trying to find their feet. Talk about trial by fire. Spock's guidance in how to navigate political deep waters had been their saving grace. 

 

If SIA did decide to investigate, the Enterprise might be seriously delayed in setting off on their five-year mission.

 

“Well...” said a male voice, deeper, “Let's do it in reverse, then. Can we eliminate a romantic relationship between the Doctor and the Vulcan, at least?” Tink of a glass being put down, the slopping of liquid being poured. One of them was getting themselves a drink.

 

The woman muttered something unintelligible, then, “No. Simply the fact that the Vulcan shows hints of... animation when talking to the Doctor is a sign of a deeper relationship.” Kirk bit both his lips between his teeth. They'd seen one of McCoy's and Spock's debates, then? And thought it meant they liked each other? Well, there was some truth in that.

 

“No, if anything, I'd eliminate the Captain as a factor. His personality profile indicates he is incapable of romantic commitment, though he seems to have maintained a friendship with the Doctor for several years at the academy. He simply disregards social mores and is a compulsive flirt.” Ouch, it seemed the eavesdropper's curse struck true. Kirk winced and hid the motion by sitting down, in a chair a little further from the door. Hopefully that and his costume would prevent anyone from recognising him and suspecting him of listening in.

 

“Seems sensible. Though even short-term liaisons count as fraternisation...” Here the man paused, perhaps to let the correction sink in, “...they're unlikely to influence command decisions.” For several seconds, nothing could be heard and Kirk was about to get up when the next question cut him off at the knees, made his world turn upside down. “What of Niribu? Breaking the Prime Directive for an officer's life...”

 

A sigh. “The Admirality ensures us that Kirk's temporary demotion and subsequent trauma has taken care of any excess of arrogance that could cause a repetition. Though we suspect that Uhura might have influenced the Captain, she did not make the call, and the Vulcan is on record as having both condemned the action before and after, and reporting the Captain in the first place.” Clicking of heels, and the woman's voice approaching the door.

 

Kirk clutched the seat and breathed deep so as not to laugh hysterically. It seemed like Spock's traitorous honesty had its upsides. He straightened back up when, almost next to him, though still behind the door, the woman asked, “Any advice before I go back to observing my subjects?” 

 

_Not a monkey, lady,_ thought Kirk, and immediately thought someone with such pessimism and monotone, nasal voice could only be the most bureaucratic of fleet bitches. “There was a sanctioned romantic relationship between Lieutenant Nyota Uhura and Commander Spock, that's since been terminated, that's all I can tell you,” was the last he heard the man say before he was scrambling away. Shouldn't be caught near the door. 

 

He zigzagged towards a buffet. When he glanced back, he saw to his surprise a smiling blonde appear with whom he'd danced twice. She hadn't sounded at all the same when he'd talked to her.  _Hidden agendas should make people ugly,_ he grumbled to himself. So that's how she'd known it was him, dress and stage make-up or no.

 

A drunken admiral breathed in his face, startling him. “What pretty eyes you have, dear,” the man said, slurred, really, twirling one of Kirk's wig's blonde tresses, “Care to come back to my room with me so I can see them better?” 

 

Kirk stared him down. It took a minute for the Admiral's brain to work up a response, but then he skedaddled with admirable speed.

 

“I love a woman who can terrify a man without a word,” said a sultry voice over his shoulder, while a slender hand held out a glass of Kirk's favourite cocktail, pineapple and umbrella and all.

 

“That's my line,” said Kirk. “Enjoying the evening, Uhura?”

 

“Hmmm. I enjoy disconcerting my colleagues with the news that in a few months I will _not_ be available to review their papers anymore because I'll be on the other side of the Federation.” When Kirk turned around, swishy skirt twirling around his shaved legs, his eyes could take in the smug Swahili beauty dressed as a swashbuckler. “It's quite nice to see the jealousy strangle their words and pretend I don't understand why it's such an outrage a _young woman_ gets to live _their_ dream.” She turned down her head, put two gloved fingers to her lips and peeked at him from underneath a feathered hatt. “Don't tell them I said that.”

 

“Noooh, sisters forever,” Kirk said, and held out a pinky. She shook it with hers. “Want to dance and mess with more heads?” he asked. “Apparently, I'm a leggy, tall blonde with pretty eyes and a devastating smile, and you're an exotic beauty. We'd make all the old men die embarrassing little deaths in their pants.” He held out a challenging hand, and she accepted. 

 

Their stately waltz, with Uhura in the lead, degenerated into a messy jitterbug in which Kirk hitched up his skirt as high and often as he could. He hadn't shaved his legs only to hide them from an appreciative audience, after all. Finally, they left the dance floor in a four-legged heap of giggles, to the applause of several bystanders. Kirk smiled sweetly at a red-faced McCoy, who'd dressed as a Mountie, and his frown complimented the way he chewed on his unlit cigar. “Don't get out the shotgun, Daddy dear, I haven't done a thing,” he drawled in his best southern belle impression, patting the good doctor's cheek.

 

“ _Jim,”_ said McCoy, swatting him, but did not seem to know how to complete the sentence, so fell silent again. Uhura remained snuggled up against Kirk, though she patted Spock's arm when he handed her a tissue to blot the sweat from her brow.

 

“Your androgyny draws many eyes,” the Commander contributed. “It is unknown whether all your admirers will be able to maintain their control if you continue to provoke them as they become more inebriated.”

 

“Spock, you say the sweetest things,” Kirk told him, before steering the quartet into a more secluded corner. “Listen... I happened to overhear a little bird just now...” In a quiet voice, he summarised the conversation. “Ideas?” he asked.

 

McCoy chewed his cigar with even more vigour. 

 

“It seems we have been able to confound them thus far,” said a thoughtful Spock. “I suggest we continue to do so.”

 

“Yeah,” said Kirk, with a bit more hope in his heart. “I was dismissed as a terminal flirt. You and Uhura were taken out of the equation as a cause for compromise 'cause you asked for permission way back when. What about the rest? And the crew that isn't here?”

 

“Agape and eros,” muttered Uhura, downing another glass of the champagne she'd been tossing back all evening.

 

“Huh?” said McCoy and Kirk in stereo.

 

“The Greek had two words for love, one for, well, friendship, and the other for romantic love. We,” she motioned between them, “have one, if not the other. Point is, we all care, we're tight, unusually so, because we spent much more time together, in far more harrowing situations, than other crews, and we just happen to _fit._ So. Seems like Internal Affairs can't distinguish between lust and affection, of any kind. We'll take advantage of that by showing our affection for everybody.” She tightened the arm she had around Kirk, planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

 

“Don't mess with the make-up,” he said absently, while he let that roll through his head. _They underestimate us,_ his inner strategist thought gleefully, _and we know exactly how to deal with that!_ “Brilliant idea, sweetheart.” So he planted a big one on Uhura, and on a spluttering McCoy for good measure. 

 

Spock, had he been human, would have been seated with his chin upon his fist, philosopher-style. Since he'd chosed to favour his Vulcan heritage, he did a lantern-pole impression until he was done being Deep Thought. The black tunic and trousers that slimmed him down added to the visual.

 

“Spock? Big brain contributions?” Kirk prodded.

 

“I am uncertain as to how to pretend at expressing affection, Captain,” Spock said, and Kirk blinked and parsed that carefully. A year ago, he would have been hurt, thinking Spock might not have affection, but no, that's not what he was saying. With his typical economy, he'd shared his reluctance to show emotion, even for the sake of pretense. And that, yes, Kirk could understand. 

 

“Don't,” he said. “These people aren't idiots. The sheer fact that you argue with McCoy they took as an indication that you might be doing tonsil hockey behind closed doors, never mind that you argue with everyone and their uncle,” he said, speaking over Spock's potential protest. “So... Just continue to be you and let us be your human friends. Think you can manage that?” he asked. 

 

Spock only quirked an eyebrow at him, because  _Vulcans do not state the obvious, Captain_ .

 

Kirk did so love his first, and because he could blame alcohol, he gave him a hug. “Good man.” Uhura giggled.

 

It was an excellent night.

 

***

 

So perhaps he felt he needed to prove the invisible, suspicious eyes wrong. Or perhaps he felt buoyed by the copious affection his crew showed him in those weeks. 

 

Whatever the reason, Kirk did not go hunting for an attractive lay. Instead, he went bar-hopping with whatever senior crew he'd spent the day with, sometimes meeting up with the people that'd been stuck in briefings, if he'd been on the Enterprise, and sometimes fleeing the endless drilling and interviewing himself, when he'd had a day at Starfleet Headquarters. 

 

Spock, though Vulcan, did seem to go out of his way to spend time with them.

 

Once, they'd even bundled up for an old-fashioned game of open-air chess on the Embarcardero. Kirk was sure his grin'd split his face. Spock moved big pieces on the two-dimensional board with green fingertips and a half-covered face. “I concede, Captain,” he said eventually, and Kirk treated him to a gourmet tea-tasting. Spock bought three boxes and quietly said “Good night, Jim,” so Kirk rolled into bed with a smile that, in its smallness, was nevertheless more ecstatic than the grin he'd worn all day.

 

_Agape or eros?_ he wondered, and slept.

 

***

 

Unexpected, but all the better for that, was that morale was at an all-time high when the  _Enterprise_ crew was ready to ship out. “We're a crew, and for the next couple of years, we're family,” he said in his ship-wide speech to the crew, and got a rousing cheer in response. 

 

He never did hear anything from Starfleet Internal Affairs before they left. And out in the big black, what did it matter?

 

***

 

_Agape -_

 

Kirk was slumped over a conference table. He'd only sipped the no-brand whisky before its burn turned his stomach and he'd slammed the glass down, half the liquor slopping over the table, over his crotch. _As if I'd peed in my pants. Appropriate, for a coward,_ he thought, drawing circles and figure-eights until McCoy came to find him, an indeterminate amount of time later.

 

A hand on his shoulder roused Kirk. “He'll live, lover-boy,” the Doctor said.

 

“Yeah. Good. Thanks, Bones.” Kirk tried to rise. Failed. Fell back in his chair.

 

His chair was swiveled until the Doctor could look him over, with tricorder and hands at his pulse and on his forehead, until finally the Doctor kneeled between his thighs so Kirk could bend over his shoulder and cry, as he'd done too many times on this mission. “Two people still _died,_ Bones, all because I _froze,_ didn't want to kill the woman I was deluded into loving.”

 

Miramanee, who'd loved him, married him, bore his child, even, until she miscarried and blamed him for not saving their child. She'd worked with former medicine chief Salish to turn the tribe against him when he couldn't open the Obelisk. He'd had months of heartbreak before Spock melded with him and said, _look, it is not real. This love is false._

 

In the meantime, the tribe had gone on to stone the two security officers, Praden and Logowitz, who'd beamed down between him and the tribe. He'd yelled for them to stop, but then, seeing Miramanee at the head of the group, he'd frozen, memory of love warring with betrayal and confusion. The security officers, and Spock, had gotten between them, stunning people, but not quickly enough. Kirk had panicked, grabbed his communicator, opened the Obelisk, into which had shuffled a bleeding Spock to turn the Preservers' deflector shield back on. Praden and Logowitz had not been able to dodge enough stones to avoid critical injury.

 

The tribe'd only stopped when Spock came out with news of the asteroid's destruction, a rain of fire from the sky an impressive visual aid.

 

“Yes, well, at least I'm not the only one with a vindictive ex-wife now,” said McCoy.

 

Kirk smeared snot over his shoulder in revenge. “Yours didn't cause anybody's _death.”_

 

It remained suspiciously quiet.

 

“Bones?”

 

More silence, so Kirk wiped his tears away and put his forehead against McCoy's. “Tell me.”

 

“She... I...” The Doctor sucked in a deep breath. “I'll... always wonder, if I hadn't been in the middle of a divorce, cut off from _everybody,_ including my own colleagues... would I have been able to heal my dad? Or would the mad old bastard still've died, insane from his unbearable pain and with only a drunken son who was obsessing over a cure for company?”

 

“Don't blame yourself,” said Kirk, like he always did.

 

“Yeah, right back atcha,” drawled the good Doctor, before sitting down. Kirk shoved his friend's head into his stomach so he could hide his face, and stroked his hair and shoulders until they stopped shaking.

 

“Pain shared is still damn painful,” mused Kirk.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So what's the sitch on Spock?” he asked McCoy while the Doctor bent a red-eyed face over a tricorder he didn't need to consult.

 

“Eh... miraculous full recovery by way of Vulcan voodoo trance. Up and ready to be a pain in your Captainly ass within the week.” He snapped his device closed and shoved it into his belt, started to herd Kirk out the conference room.

 

“Good.” And it was.

 

***

 

_Eros -_

 

Valentine's Day, and since they were readying themselves for a First Contact, no way to hold a party and let a skeleton crew man the ship. Instead, there were smaller parties in several crew Rec rooms at various times.

 

Kirk's expectation, that he'd officiate at Uhura and McCoy's wedding at some point, dissolved when he walked into a half-lit Rec room, the part there over, only some confetti on the floor and glasses on the tables.

 

Uhura straddled their chief engineer's lap, biting on his neck, while he not-so-quietly sang the praises of “his luscious, lusty lass, oh m'dear, yes, right there.”

 

Kirk watched for a few moments, felt something scarily close to paternal pride well up in his breast, and left to get rid of that feeling at a party of his own.

 

Not before he wolf-whistled, though, loudly.

 

When their glazed eyes were turned his way, he pointed at them. “Uhura, don't break my chief engineer. Scotty, do not unleash the wrath of Uhura on us all.”

 

They did not seem to know how to respond, so he smirked, added, “That's an order,” and left.

 

***

 

_Agape -_

 

Not too long after that, Spock and Uhura held hands on the bridge. “I refuse,” Spock said to the stern Vulcan woman named T'Pau on the main screen. Kirk could count the hairs sticking out of her flared nostrils.

 

“Thou shalt obey, S'poch, and return to thy clan to do thy duty,” she said, her voice a bit scratchy across the light years. Their first officer'd had the bad luck to get a live summons from his family matriarch at a time when the _Enterprise_ was in range of a relay.

 

A thirty-second conference that'd gone completely over Kirk's head had led to Uhura and Spock standing in the middle of the bridge, holding hands and pretending to be a couple. Why, that, as yet, remained to be discovered.

 

“My duty lies here,” Spock said.

 

“Thou _must_ bond. Thy half-human cousin has made that _clear,”_ the lady said,which was to say, something about Old Spock had made Spock's great-gran nervous enough to put in an intergalactic call. “With an appropriate partner,” she added.

 

Spock was silent, for several seconds, and then said, “Unnecessary.” He held up his other hand in a ta'al. “I have chosen. Live long and prosper.” He signalled to Sulu to terminate the connection, who did so promptly.

 

Uhura let go of Spock's hand, smiled at him and returned to the Communication station.

 

“Lieutenant Sulu, you have the conn. Mr. Spock, with me,” he said.

 

***

 

_Eros -_

 

“So...you and Uhura pretended to be a couple so your grandma can't force you to go and marry a Vulcan woman at the colony, because bonding's necessary for... biological reasons?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Clever,” Kirk said, and tried to hide the excess of his relief, because he should not feel it this much if it was just a friend he wasn't losing.

 

“Captain... Jim.” Spock had tented his hands, geeky bangs only covering half his forehead. “I did not wish to enter into a relationship where there was no affection. Though I do not express them, I have become convinced of the merit of certain emotions, particularly... affection.”

 

“Really?” said Kirk, drawing out the world because he had not expected to be discussing _this_ when he dragged his First Officer off the bridge for some background information on that strange conversation.

 

“When we foiled Starfleet Internal Affairs' attempt to investigate us, you called it the “make love, not war” approach, and the subsequent exchanges of friendship among the crew were beneficial both for the crew members' health, mindset and general morale. And several months ago...”

 

“Kang,” Kirk supplied.

 

“Indeed, again we “made love, not war,” with the Klingons, thereby defeating our true enemy.” Spock put his hands down and put his laser-stare on Kirk. “Jim, from the beginning of our acquaintance you and I have cooperated in a manner I would have deemed impossible, though you seemed convinced, and you have led me into a friendship the depth of which I had not dared hope existed.”

 

Kirk was weak in the knees, but for the best of reasons, found himself saying “Spock,” in a way he'd normally say “I love you,” as he always did, because scaring his friend away was not an option.

 

“But... Jim... These many months.” Spock stood, paced, recollected himself, put his hands behind his back and said to the space over Kirk's head. “If there is agape, like this friendship, and eros, Jim...”

 

Warm brown eyes caught, held Kirk's eyes, cradled Kirk's heart.

 

“I do not wish to choose between them. I would have both, on my own terms. I would choose _whom_ I love, and not let my choices be dictated.” He seemed almost amused, now. “I tend to react aversely to such condescension.”

 

“Oh-okay.” Kirk scraped his throat. Stood up. Approached Spock so he'd have those eyes closer, closer. Could brush those bangs from that forehead, fondle those ears, cradle those cheeks. If he dared. “So, who is it?”

 

Spock tilted his head.

 

“That you love, I mean, in that way.” He shrugged. “Just saying, I mean, I'm hoping that you're... But I don't want to assume, so...” He let his face fall down. He did not dare.

 

Two fingers beneath his chin, stroked down his neck, and up, over his lips, then beneath his chin again, pulling him forward. “I would have all of you, Jim.”

 

Jim felt that was permission to put his grabby hands all over Spock's person.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The events discussed by Kirk with McCoy and Spock refer to the Star Trek TOS episodes The Paradise Syndrome and The Day of the Dove. Liberties were deliberately taken because, hey, alternate reality.


End file.
